


The Queen of the Forest

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Gen, family cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 20:49:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Aredhel tells her father about her plans for the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Queen of the Forest

Ñolofinwë quietly let himself into the house and leaned back against the front door, running his fingers through his hair and listening. The day at court had been one of interminable council meetings, but, he supposed, a dutiful prince, councillor and son must not leave his father’s side. Not even when the topic of discussion was some minor improvement to the drainage system in Tirion’s main square, or the latest fluctuations in the price of copper ore. Nevertheless, he had often found his mind wandering, with a stab of guilt, back to Anairë as he had left her this morning, red-eyed with lost sleep and attempting to sooth a caterwauling Arakáno.

Now the lights were mingling, and the house had fallen silent. He slipped off his cloak and boots, and noiselessly climbed the stairs, sighing with relief as he realised that it was quieter than the house had been in weeks. He felt a flicker of worry.  _Where was everyone?_

He opened the door of his and Anairë’s bedroom with a frown, but it changed to an affectionate smile at the sight that greeted him. In the armchair by the window sat Anairë, cradling Arakáno in her arms. Both were fast asleep. Arakáno sucked his thumb, a tiny smile on his round face, looking for all the world as though he were entirely innocent of robbing the household of sleep in the weeks since his birth. Anairë had dark circles under her eyes, yet she looked so much at peace that he did not have the heart to disturb either of them. Instead, he silently picked up a blanket from the bed and placed it around his wife and youngest son, before tiptoeing from the room.

No sooner had he closed the door behind him, then there was a loud wail, and something heavy was barrelling into his legs, at high speed. He let out an involuntary cry as he nearly lost his balance, then stifled it quickly, hoping that neither Anairë nor Arakáno had been disturbed. He looked down to see his daughter smiling up at him, her small hands clinging enthusiastically to his knees as she bounced on the balls of her feet. Her skin, clothes and boots were caked in drying mud.

“ _Atya! I’m bored!_ ”

“ _Irissë!_  What have I told you about shouting?” he hissed, extricating himself with difficulty.

“But Arakáno does it!” she protested. “ _All the time_. It’s all he does. He never stops!”

“Yes, well, he has stopped  _now_ , and your mother needs some sleep, so if you want to shout you shall just have to save it for when you are outside.” He intended to sound angry, or at least somewhat stern, but he could not help a smile spreading across his face when he heard no sound of crying issuing from the bedroom. Irissë’s face crumpled into a pout.

“What have you been  _doing?_ ” He wondered aloud, seeing the mud, twigs and grass caught in her wild mass of dark curls, and even something that may have been a feather. He knelt down to wipe away a streak of mud on her cheek with his thumb.

“I was playing in the mud” she declared solemnly.

He could not help but smile. “That I can certainly see. Come on. Let’s get you clean, before your brothers come home and find out they have a little wild creature for a sister.”

 ——-

Irissë yawned, her skin still glowing warm and pink from the bathwater, as Ñolofinwë laboriously brushed the tangles from her damp hair. She chewed the sleeve of her nightgown, contemplating him with wide, serious eyes.

“So, what  _did_  you get up to today, little one? Weren’t your brothers supposed to be looking after you?”

Irissë made a face. “Turno is boring, he was studying for an exam, he said. He told me to go away. All he does is read all day.” She shrieked a little as the brush tugged at a knot in her hair.

“Sorry, my sweet” he kissed her cheek. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. What about Findekáno?”

Irissë scowled. “He went off hunting with Fëanáro’s older sons. Cousins Nelyo and Macalaurë and Tyelko. I wanted to go too” – she must have seen his look of alarm – “but Finno said I was too little.”

“You  _are_  too little, Irissë. Much too little.”

“But I’m a good rider!  _You said!_ ”

“And I stand by that. But you know your little pony can’t keep up with their horses. In a few years. Maybe.”

“Finno said he’d take me with them after my next begetting day.”

Ñolofinwë grimaced. “Did he now?” He suspected that Findekáno had  only said it to make Irissë stop bothering him, and yet the fact that he had not been consulted still rankled. He sighed, realising, with a twinge of annoyance, that he had barely seen his eldest son in weeks. Findekáno had spent more and more time out of the house since Arakáno’s birth, coming home for meals and to sleep, although he certainly did not put in an appearance every night. The boy was certainly old enough to come to court in Tirion with him, he reflected, and it was probably past time he learned what being a Prince entailed. Not for the first time, Ñolofinwë wondered if he gave his children too much freedom.

“It’s just not  _fair!_ ” burst out Irissë, breaking into his thoughts.

He put the hairbrush down, deciding the tangles a lost cause for the time being, then lifted his daughter and set her on his lap. He stroked her hair soothingly. “What’s not fair, little one?”

Irissë was almost on the point of tears. “It’s because I’m a  _girl_ , isn’t it? That’s why you won’t let me go.”

“No! No, that’s not…” and yet, Ñolofinwë had to admit that he felt more protective of Irissë than he had felt over either of his elder sons at this age. He sighed. “Alright. Irissë, I promise you can go hunting with your brothers and the sons of Fëanáro, should they be willing and able to look after you, when your next begetting day comes. But only if they invite you.”  _Nelyafinwë at least_ , he thought ruefully, _is somewhat responsible._

Her face burst into a jubilant grin, and she threw her arms around him. “Thank you Atya! Thank you!”

“And while we’re on the subject” he added, a smile twisting his own features now, “it would matter not if you were a boy. If any of your brothers ever came home with their hair  _this tangled_ ” - he made an elaborate act of trying to drag the brush through it again, making Irissë squeal with laughter – “or if they came home covered from head to heel in mud” – he nodded at her boots in the corner, which were so encrusted with mud that it was hard to tell what colour they had been originally – “then I would think twice about letting them go where they pleased, in any case.”

She smiled sweetly. “I  _like_  mud.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yes” she said with conviction. “When I am grown up and can do as I like, I shall wear all white, so that I can show off all the mud and grass stains, as badges of pride.”

His eyebrow rose still higher, in amusement.

“I will! And I will be the Queen of the forest, and I will ride around on a big white horse all through the night, and I will never have a bedtime,  _or_  a bathtime. And my crown will be made of flowers and leaves and fruit, and all of it will be tangled in my hair, and I will never  _ever_  brush it!”

“Ah, Irissë! It sounds like you have it all planned out.”

“Yes, I have” she said imperiously. “I will talk to the animals and live in my own secret forest. And then, if I want to get married, I will marry the King of the forest. But only if I want to. And I will never, ever,  _ever_  let my boring, silly brothers tell me what I can and can’t do.”

He looked at her, somewhat taken aback by the mention of marriage. She would be beautiful one day, he realised. Findekáno and Turukáno both had his blue eyes, but Irissë had Anairë’s large dark ones, and her heart-shaped face. She would grow up to look just like her mother, although perhaps, he thought, somewhat wilder.

“And…” he collected himself. “And tell me, will the Queen of the forest invite her father to visit her realm sometimes? When he conducts himself well in her sight?”

She smiled, burying her face in his tunic. “Silly Atya. Of course I will.”


End file.
